I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'.
To say that he had been surprised when he had found out that his father's guardianship duties had passed to him would have been to put it mildly. He had been absolutely dumbfounded when his lawyer had turned up at the manor all those weeks ago and had told him that his obligations to his deceased father now included taking care of a sixteen-year-old girl. Not that his lawyer had realised, of course – he was usually quiet, so no one actually understood when he was truly speechless or just chose to be silent.
He had read through the documents time and again, hoping to find a flaw, a loophole, an inconsistency – anything. But the sentences were short and clear; if he was above twenty-five when anything befell the girl's parents, he would be her guardian in case of his own father's death. Had his father still been alive, he would have taken care of the girl, but he had died almost two whole years ago. And he himself had turned twenty-six a few months back, so the age restriction did not apply either.
He had been curious to know exactly what would have happened to the girl had he not been above twenty-five, as his father had said he had to be to be her guardian, but his lawyer had been extremely vague on the topic, preferring to avoid it shamelessly than to even sit down and discuss it like he discussed all other matters. He had also wanted to know what had caused the untimely deaths of the Makimachis, and to this he got a satisfactory – and an extremely detailed – answer. They had died of a cholera epidemic that had apparently been sweeping the area. The girl had been out of the city for a couple of weeks with some old man who reputedly looked after her far more than her parents did, and had returned only when the last stages of the disease were taking their toll, the infectious period having passed.
The same old man had supposedly packed her off to England immediately, having known something about the arrangements made for the girl's guardianship until she was twenty-one. The voyage, of course, was a long one, and though most of it had been paid for, he found himself having to post money to one of his acquaintances in India, where the ship was due to stop, to pay for the rest of her passage. Already, she was more trouble than she was worth, in his opinion. It was a couple of months before news came of the ship's arrival in London, and there he had to arrange for a train ticket and seat for her to reach Yorkshire. The couple of trains she had to change on her way to their small station took delicate handling, since she was unaccompanied and most likely not able to navigate herself correctly in a strange country with a strange language. He desperately hoped she could speak English, for her own sake.
With the manager of the Yorkshire train station written to and thus the conductors successfully warned to watch out for her, he had felt he could safely say that he had done all that he needed to to get her safely to the manor, and from there on Omasu and Okon could probably handle her. None of the arrangements were his problem anymore. It wasn't like he had known the Makimachis personally, anyway; they had been good friends of his father, and had therefore handed the guardianship of their only daughter over to him, but that didn't mean that he had any responsibility to them, exactly. Why, technically, he had none to his father either – the two of them had never been on the best of terms, really. But his sense of honour was strong, so he obeyed his father's will as best as he could.
He had known, of course, that she would be arriving last night, and had looked out the window for her, slightly curious to know what she would be like. All he had seen was the straight figure of Omasu walking in front, with a small, hunched figure with a dark cloak pulled over her head following in her wake. He had quickly lost interest – she was probably just a scared, shy little girl with no thoughts of her own, like so many 'good' little girls were brought up to be. Having completely forgotten about her by morning, he was already dressed and seated at his desk with his pen hovering over the pile of paperwork that awaited him, when he was surprised by a knock on his door.
His breakfast had already been sent up, and it was common routine for him not to be disturbed until Okon came upstairs to ask him when he wanted lunch. He looked up, saying, "Come in."
The door slid open soundlessly, and Omasu stepped inside. She looked uncomfortable, hesitating before saying, "Um, Aoshi-sama, the girl … I mean, Miss Makimachi … She – arrived last night. I went to pick her up like you said."
He looked at her coolly. There was no reason for her to come up just to tell him that – if he had wanted to know he would have asked her if the girl had arrived safely. "Well?" he said, getting tired of waiting for her to continue.
"Well, you see, Aoshi-sama, I – " She floundered, then went on, "What arrangements are you going to make for her?"
He looked back at her blankly. "Haven't I already told you? She has nothing more to do with me – you and Okon will provide her with meals, help her out with what she needs doing. Is that not sufficient?"
Omasu looked a little irritated. "Frankly, no, Aoshi-sama. What is she going to do all day? She is a young girl, and I don't think she is content to just sit in her room with a couple of books to read all day. Are you going to get someone to tutor her, perhaps? A trained governess? Is she to go outside? Is she to wander around the house? What is she to do if you do not want to employ a governess for her?"
He shifted his eyes to the papers lying on his desk. No, he had never thought it would be so hard. He had thought that that was the end of it. He should have known that there would be other arrangements to make, rules to put down, orders to give. "No, I will not employ a governess," he said after a minute of thought. "She may go outside, yes, just not onto the moors. The gardens are large enough to satisfy her, I would think. She may wander around the house as long as she does not get lost. I would appreciate it if you kept her away from my rooms. Is that all?"
She nodded, looking a little thankful. She stopped for a second as she opened the door to leave, and turned around and said, "Just one more thing, Aoshi-sama."
He dragged his eyes back from the business transaction and said, "What is it?"
"Do you want to meet her?"
That question floored him. Want to meet her? Did he? Heavens, no. What would he possibly say to a sixteen-year-old girl who had suddenly – forcefully – taken up residence in his house because her parents had suddenly passed away? Good morning, Makimachi-san. Nice to meet you. I hear your parents are dead. /Oh, yes, it was the most surprising thing, really …/ After all, what other topic of conversation was there?
He shook his head, almost adamantly. "No, I do not want to meet her, Omasu," he said firmly. "I have work to do now."
"Hai, Aoshi-sama," she said, lapsing into her native tongue, an obvious indication of disappointment or resignation on her part. "Sorry for bothering you."
It was late afternoon by the time he finally got around to having lunch. Apart from breakfast, which was – without fail – sent up at eight o'clock every morning, right after his morning walk, all his mealtimes were erratic, ranging from lunch at six in the evening to dinner at perhaps midnight, or whenever he felt hungry. It was one of the advantages of having the entire household at his beck and call. Strangely enough, it was Omasu who brought it up for him, instead of Okon, who usually did it. He had once again forgotten about the girl, and was quite surprised when, halfway through his meal, he heard the sound of pattering footsteps outside in the corridor. Knowing full well that neither Okon nor Omasu had that light, carefree walk, he pushed back his chair and walked towards the door, his hand poised above the doorknob as he listened.
He heard the sound of a door handle being rasped, a low sound of frustration, then the sound of footsteps approaching his own door. He thought for a split second that he was going to demote both Okon and Omasu for not keeping a close watch on the girl, then flung open the door himself before the footsteps could come too close.
He didn't really expect to see what he did. He had thought he'd see a tiny, shrunken little thing, stammering apologies with a bent head and respectful words. Instead, wide blue eyes stared up at him, shining with surprise. The girl was standing about a step away from the doorframe, her hand outstretched as if reaching for the doorknob, frozen in shock. Her face seemed to have gone very pale – either that or her complexion was like that anyway.
She came to her senses with a jerk, taking a jumping step backwards. "G-Gomen nasai!" she managed, then apparently decided that Japanese was not the way to go, saying, "I – I'm so sorry, mister, I really am – I was just checking out all the doors in this corridor, you see, and most of them were locked, and the couple that weren't were not all that interesting, so I was just about to check this room, too – I had no idea someone was in it, honestly – "
No, the shy little girl he was expecting wouldn't blabber on and on like this. She was still talking, he noticed vaguely, something about how he could let people know he was in a room so that they wouldn't almost barge in by accident. The sound of her voice was strangely pleasant, not the thin squeaky voice that so many women had. He saw her eyes widen suddenly as she looked him up and down, as if seeing him for the first time, and she took an involuntary step backwards.
"Are you – " she squeaked suddenly, and he mentally winced at her shrill tone, "Are you, by any chance – are you Shinomori-san?"
He hadn't expected her to be so direct, either. "Yes," he said coolly, getting in his first word. "And you must be Misao."
She nodded vehemently. "Well – uh – g-good morning, Shinomori-san! I – uhm – told you why I came here already – so I – I suppose I – "
"I believe it is late afternoon," he said quietly, feeling a strange stirring of something inside him, something that was almost – amusement? He couldn't honestly remember the last time he had smiled, and neither could he remember the last time he had been bothered by that fact.
She flushed. "S-S-So it is!" she stammered, backing away further. "Uh – I – I'm sorry for bothering you, Shinomori-san!" she shot over her shoulder, turning and running full pelt down the hallway, her sandals – contrasting oddly with her restrictive skirt – slapping softly against the carpeted floor.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching the corner around which he had disappeared. He had definitely not expected to meet her like that. He had thought conversation would be hard, and that he would have no idea what to say. It seemed she always would, so maybe he really wouldn't have to make a conscious effort to avoid her. Besides, he couldn't possibly avoid her for the next five years, and she would be living with him for at least that long.
He turned and went back to his work, wondering why all the women he knew always turned and left with a 'sorry for bothering you, Shinomori-san,' and suddenly regretting the fact that he was leaving for London on business for a couple of weeks the day after tomorrow.